


A Few Minutes In Paris

by giantessmess



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Dreamscapes, F/F, Supernatural Elements, time-travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantessmess/pseuds/giantessmess
Summary: Andy is drawn back in to those last moments in Paris with Miranda.





	A Few Minutes In Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winter156](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/gifts).



> Inspired by a scene from [In Some Quite Casual Way](http://archiveofourown.org/works/621060/chapters/1120824) by [winter156](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/pseuds/winter156), which you should all go read right after this.

Andy wondered, sometimes, about what became of the cellphone in the fountain. Feared she tossed it into the water in the same casual way that you would throw in a dime—now make a wish. She couldn’t recall making a wish of any kind at the time, but she doubted it would have been anything to be proud of. Her heart had been beating so fast, her face reddening from the audacity of her own behavior. Perhaps she had slipped up, made the wrong sort of wish in the end. But then, she got what she wanted, didn’t she?

The first time it happened, it had been an accident. Andy was in bed, exhausted from pushing herself to meet a late deadline at _The Mirror_. She had no reason to think of Miranda that night. But she still did. This was the reality of her life in the months since she’d left. Time marched on, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda. It went back to those last few moments in Paris. It always did. Guilt can be a physical feeling, a sort of hot pain that radiates down to your fingertips. Burns deep in your gut. This was the feeling Andy couldn’t shake on the night she lay there in bed, unaware of what was about to happen. She let out a deep breath and settled into what she thought was sleep. Until she felt something. Something strange. Something that made her open her eyes.

And God, the light was sudden. Andy squinted. Whatever she was sitting on shifted around her and she fell forward a little. She held her hands out to balance herself and realized she was in a moving car. That car. 

No. That couldn’t be right.

But here she was, sitting in the backseat on the way to the last event of the day. Miranda was staring at her. Andy blinked a few times and realized Miranda expected her to answer. That there had been a question. Here they were, in that car in Paris. This was a dream; it had to be. Or perhaps everything that had come before was the dream.

“Andréa,” Miranda’s voice wavered a little. “Are you quite alright?”

Andy opened her mouth, closed it.

“Am I…?”

Miranda was close, closer than she had been that first time in the car. She looked concerned.

“You just went completely white,” she sniffed, like Andy’s condition was some kind of affront. “Please don’t drop on me now, I couldn’t bear dealing with an onslaught of French doctors this late in the week.”

“No…” Andy found it hard to speak. Her voice wouldn’t come. It was almost like pushing through a heavy fog. Miranda didn’t look convinced.

“You didn’t hear a word of what I said before, did you?”

Andy blinked again. She struggled desperately to remember back that far, but it was a blur.

“Miranda…” she managed. 

And then everything went dark.

She woke up in bed, alone.

* * *

It was a little pathetic that she spent her nights lying in the dark thinking of Miranda Priestly. She was fairly certain Miranda didn’t waste any time thinking about her. Andy had crossed paths with her enough times in the last few months; launches, benefits and once at a party. Miranda stared right through her as if she wasn’t there. On some occasions Andy would even receive that familiar, insincere smile. Predators are known to show their teeth when they are preparing you for an oncoming attack.

She hadn’t been attacked, though. It had been six months since Paris. She had received a recommendation, albeit delivered with an insult. But it had gotten her a job. _The_ job. She’d survived the Devil’s wrath. And much like the Boy Who Lived, the gossip about her dramatic exit was legendary. Though no one could verify the details. She even heard whispers around _The Mirror_ that Andy had, in fact, slapped Miranda in the face before fleeing into the Paris traffic. A slap wasn’t much worse than what she had really done. Perhaps that was why it still kept her up at night. She played the last few moments of that car trip over and over in her mind. How she had been shaken by the events at the luncheon. How she’d listened to Miranda quietly talk as they rode together in the backseat. The way Miranda’s face was flushed with victory, how she hadn’t sounded the least bit remorseful. Andy remembered the sudden feeling of fury, the indignation. But she still willed herself not to do it, like a child yelling at a movie screen. Don’t leave. Don’t. Stay in the car. You are better than this.  
Of course, she didn’t truly regret quitting. Didn’t regret being free of the couture-clad world of Runway. But still—in the middle of Paris, Andy? Just like that. The busiest, most stressful week of the year. No assistant to support her, while she was suffering the blow of another divorce? Alone. Nobody deserved that.

* * *

A few times she saw Miranda leaving the Elias-Clarke building in the dead of the night, swooping out into the street like a witch descending from a high tower. Andy was careful not to draw any attention to herself, knowing as she did that no smile or wave would draw a positive reaction from the woman. And as far as Andy’s punishment for Paris was concerned, there was still time.  
She spent long days trying to catch Miranda leaving work again. Not to say anything, but just to see her, if only for a moment. She decided not to investigate why seeing Miranda felt so necessary.

She tried. But she failed to dream it again. When night fell Andy closed her eyes, trying desperately to picture the car. The way it felt, the smell of Miranda’s perfume that left her feeling warmed down to her toes. But all Andy managed to do was fall asleep, and if she dreamed at all she didn’t remember it.

People at work were beginning to notice. That she was tired, or perhaps distracted. Phoning it in, but managing to stay a few feet from truly failing at her job. Nobody said anything, not yet at least. But she saw the way they looked at her, knew the disapproving or concerned expressions. It was only a matter of time before her editor would call her into his office. She was still a new recruit, there was no excuse. She didn’t have anything to say if he asked. Couldn’t really explain that she was hung up on a few minutes in Paris.

* * *

Trying so hard to get back there didn’t get her anywhere. It was only when she gave up, when she didn’t try at all, that she managed it again. On that night Andy closed her eyes in defeat, and suddenly she was back there. Quite by accident. Asleep or awake; dreaming or deluded — she was there. With a jolt, she found herself suddenly sitting upright, in that car. Her skin tingled, her breath leaving her. Andy turned to stare, and there she was. Miranda. The same black collard shirt, the neckline dipping into a V, the fur wrap curled around her shoulders. The slight smirk to her lips as she glanced over at Andy. That expression had pissed Andy off so much the first time, after the luncheon. After Nigel. After everything. But this time, with the space between them suddenly evaporating, Andy could only gape at the woman. 

“What on Earth are you gawking at?”

“I…” Andy had the same problem speaking as she’d had before. She must have looked despairing, for Miranda frowned at her. And, much to Andy’s shock, Miranda shifted closer. Removed a leather glove from one of her hands. Reached out and touched her, softly. Her fingers warm against Andy’s neck, before Miranda pulled away and stared Andy down.

“Your heart is racing.”

Andy swallowed. She felt her face heat up. Miranda continued to stare at her like she couldn’t for the life of her figure Andy out and—why was the car taking so long? 

“Dream logic, I’m afraid,” Miranda answered with a roll of her eyes, which made Andy wonder if she had asked that out loud. And if that was the case, why wasn’t she able to speak when she actually tried to?

“I can see this is going to be another useless guessing game,” Miranda said, frowning. She removed her other glove with a look of disgust, throwing the garments onto the floor. She shrugged the fur wrap off her shoulders. “I assure you this is more annoying for me than it is for you.”

Andy tried, really tried to speak this time. She stared at Miranda plaintively, gasping a little as she failed to find the words.

“How…” she swallowed. “Why…”

“Oh for Godssake,” Miranda snapped. “Why must I be subjected to this? If you have something to say, ask me already.”

Andy slumped back, tempted to just stare out the window until they arrived. Though she was starting to believe that would never happen. Miranda seemed incredibly annoyed, which was nothing new. But there was an edge of hysteria to her, something Andy had little experience of. 

“If you’re not going to say anything,” Miranda said, giving her a sharp once-over. “Why am I even here?”

Andy must have looked as confused as she felt, for Miranda let out a breath.

“For the love of— I don’t mean in Paris,” Miranda said, her voice a little too loud, not a shout but certainly not the measured tone she was known for. “Are you completely useless?”

Andy glared at her. Miranda glared back.

“Stay out of my dreams,” Miranda said. “If you refuse to manage a simple conversation.” 

“What?” Andy blinked a few times, more confused than ever. “No.”

Miranda gritted her teeth, but she didn’t snap at her. Didn’t do anything but huff a breath and stare out the window again.

“We never get there.” She sounded almost wistful. “No matter how many times I dream it, we never do arrive.”

“We did,” Andy said slowly, and with great effort. “The first time.”

Miranda turned back to her.

“Oh, so you’re deigning to speak to me now?”

Andy forced herself to concentrate, feeling her vision grow a little white.

“It’s hard.” She took in a deep breath, and was suddenly aware of Miranda’s hand, cupping her face. A look of concern, which felt strange but comforting at the same time. Miranda reached for a bottle of water, offering it with an eyeroll.

“Not that it’s real. But I suppose it’s all mind over matter here.”

Andy took it, and managed to swallow a few mouthfuls. But it didn’t feel like much, not the same cool feeling water usually brought as it filled you. This water felt more like air. But Andy still felt calmer, more present in the car. She looked at Miranda then, and found she was able to take her in with more detail. The way the light from the Paris afternoon played off her pale skin, her white hair like a halo. The startling blue of her eyes as she stared back. 

“I’ve only had this dream once before,” Andy said then.

“No,” Miranda dismissed her words with a wave. “I have these almost every night.”

“This is my dream, Miranda.”

“How nice of you to actually form a few sentences for me,” Miranda said. “Much better than usual.”

“Are you really here?” Andy asked, feeling a little breathless again. But she wasn’t sure the cause had anything to do with speaking in a strange dream. It seemed to be the presence of Miranda herself. The way she always made Andy feel a little too giddy. Like she changed the air itself with her presence.

“Of course not,” Miranda said. “I haven’t been back to Paris since you abandoned me.” 

“I meant…”

“I know what you meant, Andréa,” she said. 

“I am sorry,” Andy said, gesturing out the window. “I never stop thinking about it. About what I did. Why else would I be here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Miranda, please. You have to believe me.”

“I believe nothing of the sort,” Miranda sniffed. “In any case, you’re not actually here. And it’s not like you have done anything remotely close to reaching out to me, in real life.”

Andy smiled, and reached out to grab hold of Miranda’s wrist. Miranda rolled her eyes, but allowed Andy to trail down until they were holding hands. It was bizarre, and yet it somehow felt utterly natural. 

“That doesn’t count,” Miranda scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. She tightened her grip.

“You would never allow me to talk to you, if this were really you,” Andy said. “And you know it.”

“That is an absurd sentence to say to someone you’re sitting next to.”

“I thought I wasn’t really here.”

“I am beginning to miss your silence,” Miranda said, though she didn’t look annoyed.

“Yeah, sure. You just gave me an earful over it.”

“This is more proof that you’re not real,” Miranda sighed. “I can’t recall a single instance where you got this cheeky.”

Andy smiled a little at her word use. 

“Probably because I didn’t want to be fired.”

“More cheek.”

“I am real, you know.”

“Forgive me for not taking your word for it,” Miranda said, a smile playing on her lips. 

They grew silent again as the car continued to make its way through Paris. Andy stared out the window, but she had no idea where they were, if they were anywhere at all.

“Do you think we’ll ever get there?” she asked. 

Miranda looked a little sad all of a sudden.

“I’m not sure either of us really wants that, Andréa.” She didn’t meet Andy’s eye, she simply stared at the passing scenery like it filled her with dread. “After all, the only thing we have to look forward to there is you leaving me.”

Suddenly awake. Andy turned to look at the rumpled left side of the bed. But Miranda wasn’t there, of course. Miranda had never been there. The bedclothes were warm beneath her fingers. And the room smelt a little of one of the Christian Dior perfumes Miranda sometimes wore. A hint of vanilla that only barely lingered after she’d been in the room. Andy wanted to sob. She could taste something bad in her throat, something acidic. Her jaw ached from clenching it. Her hands hurt from balling them into fists. She was alone.

* * *

If Andy had the constant sense of moving forward, endlessly, in the dreams she had no such sense in the everyday world. It was like everything in the waking world was growing slower by the second, or perhaps it was just her that didn’t fit. The sidewalks were dense with people moving, and yet Andy felt like she was dragging herself forward, step by step. She’d stand on the subway, tilting a little as it jolted to a stop, and find herself already in Mid-Town, the people in the carriage streaming out like a wave around her. 

The world became harder to live in, somehow. It was like Andy couldn’t take a breath as fast as she needed, or perhaps the air simply wasn’t helping. It didn’t feel like air. She found the words harder to come, when she did speak. And as for the world itself, things started to look a little greyer. The color of the sky going flat. Fading, the way it does when night sweeps in and drains it from the world.

But as the world became less real, Andy found it easier to reach Miranda. Every night she went to sleep and Miranda was there. They’d talk, or they’d simply wait for the inevitable to happen. For the end to come. The end that threatened them both, but which was making them wait for the pleasure. 

Miranda refused to believe Andy was real, no matter how many times Andy tried to convince her. But then, perhaps that was part of it. Part of the unreality of the dreams—there was no proof this was actually Miranda and not some long, drawn-out exercise in what-if. Though Andy was sure she’d manifest a Miranda who was less insulting, if given the choice. Or maybe imagining that was an impossibility even for her. 

“Stop looking at me like I killed your dog.”

“I’m not.”

“Just sit quietly,” Miranda said, fidgeting with her sunglasses in a manner very unlike her. 

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Talking,” Miranda drew the word out. “Obviously.”

“You talked first.”

“What did I just say?”

Andy smiled, despite herself. Grateful for any Miranda she got, even if her glee earned her an immediate glare.

* * *

Despite everything, Andy kept turning up for work at _The Mirror_. She needed to pay her rent, after all, even if she felt increasingly disconnected from it. She was relegated to the dregs of the paper. Fixing or writing copy for the Births and Obits. Filing, doing coffee runs. For a short while she managed the tedium that went with the classifieds that just barely fed the paper. But she’d missed enough big gaffs to warrant lectures, warnings about her job security. Cuts were coming, and she was not passing muster. Didn’t she realize that? She nodded along, but couldn’t really feel it in her gut. Not the fear, nor the dread when every eye tracked her as she walked through a room. And why should she? She was having a hard time just staying awake.

One evening Hatfield, her editor, watched Andy from across the bullpen. It was a testament to how tired she was that she wasn’t aware of him until he was standing right over her.

“You look like death, Sachs,” he said, sounding more annoyed than worried. “Go home and sort yourself out.”

Andy wasn’t aware of what made this night worse than any others. But then, she was having trouble focusing. Her vision blurred, like it was ready to bottom-out and leave her alone out there in the world. 

“I’m fine.”

“My ass, you’re fine,’ Hatfield said. 

“I…”

“Go,” he said. “I don’t want to have to tell you this again.”

Andy tried not to grimace, managing to nod. The ability to be polite had left her days ago. Weeks ago? 

She dragged her weary body into the elevator, wondering what she would possibly do with more waking time to fill. But as Andy exited the building she looked up. And there she was—Miranda, walking towards her car. Andy’s vision cleared and she felt suddenly warm all over. There was a frisson of something in the air. An electricity that made everything became a little brighter. Andy might have gasped, or maybe it was Miranda who gasped for the woman looked up suddenly, like she had felt it too. Even from across the street Andy could make out the look of shock on Miranda’s face. Andy found herself rushing forward, trying to make her way there as soon as possible. But she hadn’t looked, hadn’t checked, and a bike messenger narrowly missed her. She jumped back, hearing the rider distantly swear. When Andy looked back up again, Miranda was inside her car. And then the car simply pulled away, leaving Andy alone again.

* * *

“I saw you.”

Miranda was looking out the car window with more intensity this night, as if she was determined to pretend that Andy wasn’t next to her. 

“Miranda,” Andy said. “I saw you.”

Miranda turned to her with a glare, but her cheeks were a little bit red.

“I’m not deaf. You don’t need to repeat yourself.”

“Well, then. Say something.”

“I….”

“You felt it too, right?” Andy said. “Today. Outside Elias-Clarke.” 

Miranda let out a breath, closing her eyes.

“I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s happening,” Andy said, shifting closer to Miranda before she had the sense to stop. She took hold of Miranda’s hand, and stopped speaking. It was soft, warm, and Andy instantly felt something inside her weaken. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Miranda cleared her throat, and Andy gulped, dropping her hand.

“This isn’t happening,” Miranda said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “This isn’t real.”

“I saw you, you saw me,” Andy insisted, feeling more certain of this, whatever it was. The sense that something big was happening. It filled her. “There’s something we’re meant to do.”

Miranda may have rolled her eyes, if only slightly.

“And whatever is that?”

“I don’t know. I can’t have all the ideas.”

“You’ve barely had half of one, darling.”

Andy widened her eyes, watching Miranda blink a couple of times, as if mortified by her slip.

“Darling?”

“This isn’t _real_ ,” Miranda hissed. “It doesn’t matter what I call you. You’re not you, you’re some….some figment of wishful thinking.”

Andy laughed suddenly, before she could stop herself. 

“Here I thought I made you up, but I think…” she shook her head in bewilderment. “I think we’re both here.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Explain it then,” Andy said. “Darling.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

Andy opened her mouth, closed it. Stared at Miranda some more, which seemed to infuriate her.

“What? Why would you—”

“This will not be one of those dreams,” Miranda insisted. “You hear me?”

“We’ve….” Andy’s voice felt thick.

“Oh, for Godssake…” 

Miranda rolled her eyes. She even looked annoyed when she pulled Andy towards her. And oh, Andy felt it down to her toes, the warmth of Miranda’s mouth against hers. It was brief, but she stared at Miranda in a daze when the other woman pulled away.

“It’s a dream,” Miranda waved her hand absently. “It doesn’t count.”

“I….” Andy wanted to tumble forward and grab hold of Miranda’s shoulders. Run her mouth over the creamy white skin there. She let out a sigh. “Why did you stop?”

Miranda glared at her.

“We’ve kissed enough times,” her voice was bitter. “It isn’t real.”

“But I wasn’t there those times!” Andy said, feeling a little bereft.

“You’re not here now.”

“No…” Andy said. “I’ll prove it. Somehow.”

Miranda just stared at her like she thought Andy was a little bit of an idiot.

“How?”

“Tomorrow,” Andy said. “I will come to see you. At Runway. And you will let me.”

Miranda rolled her eyes.

“Should I cancel my 9am for you, Andréa?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see the point of this.”

The car made a sharp turn, causing Miranda to gasp. To reach out and grab hold of Andy’s arm. It took her a few minutes to let go.

* * *

Andy got all the way to the lobby of the Elias-Clarke before the nerves hit her, made her body feel liquid with the terror of what she was about to do. She marched right up to security, but he took one look at her and stopped her in her tracks.

“Miranda,” Andy let out a breath. “Miranda Priestly is expecting me.”

The security guard was familiar from her time at Runway. Kyle? Keith? 

“Are you sure, Andy?”

“Of course I’m sure. Call her if you don’t believe me.”

He nodded, and quickly rang up to the offices. 

“I have Andy here….”

“Sachs,” Andy offered.

“Andy Sachs,” he repeated into the phone. “She says…No that’s ok, no hurry.” 

Andy felt increasingly awkward standing there, suddenly cognizant of how bedraggled she must look. When was the last time she showered? Was it yesterday? She stood a little straighter when the guard started talking into the phone again. His eyes widened ever so slightly and he nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks Em…” He pulled a face and put the phone down, which probably meant Emily had hung up on him. Andy felt a little comforted by that, somehow. Grateful that some things never changed. Until she realized that Keith was looking at her.

“I’m sorry, Andy,” he said.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I just got told you’re not to be let up there, under any circumstance.”

“No…” her voice felt thick in her throat. She swallowed. “Did you reach Miranda? She’s expecting—”

“Emily went to talk to her,” the sympathy in his voice was grating. “Do you need a job? I know of one going in a hotel down on Crosby St.”

Andy glared at him, her face growing hot.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He was searching through a stack of papers now. “I can call my buddy if you—”

But she was quickly walking away, her legs only wobbling slightly, ignoring the sound of his voice calling after her.

* * *

Miranda looked nervous that night. It was hard to tell if you didn’t look for it. But there was uncertainly playing around her eyes. Something a little close to fear as she briefly looked at Andy.

“You wouldn’t even let me come up,”

“I…” Miranda let out a breath and shook her head. She seemed to struggle for the words. Andy glared at her.

“You let me stand there, in the goddamn lobby,” Andy gritted out. “I felt like an idiot.”

“Andréa…”

“You said you wanted a sign.”

Miranda closed her eyes, shook her head. 

“I know…you said you would come but…” she looked at Andy then, partly in awe, partly in terror. “How…”

“I told you.”

“Yes,” the scorn was gone from Miranda’s voice entirely. She sounded small, a little hesitant. ‘You’re…here.”

“Yes.”

Miranda’s face grew a little pink.

“This is… this is actually you.” 

“I said it was—“

“How….” Miranda cleared her throat. “How many times? Oh God, I didn’t…”

“Miranda. It’s ok.”

Miranda widened her eyes then.

“How in the world is this ok? You sit there, like I never…”

“You only kissed me once.”

“Once?” Miranda shook her head. “I must have kissed you a hundred times. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was real.”

“Miranda.”

“I thought I made you up.”

“Do you wish you made me up?” Andy’s voice wobbled against her will. Miranda looked at her then, really looked at her. And when she spoke again she was a little breathless.

“No.”

* * *

When Andy woke up, she knew she wasn’t going to work that day. She felt completely wiped out, like there wasn’t a muscle in her body capable of taking her to the bathroom, let alone haul herself onto the subway to get to work. Everything was blurry and she was trying to convince herself this was a cold, a flu. Some kind of food poisoning. But a part of her wasn’t sure she was even awake. Wasn’t convinced this was the world. The sheets felt like her sheets, her room felt like her room. But there was a dullness to it all, like the dullness she’d found walking around New York when she wasn’t dreaming. Perhaps the world wasn’t the world, and the car was the only real thing she had?

The knock at the door jolted her, made her sit up. Her stomach turned, and she felt faint with it. But the knocking became pounding, and then she heard something she was convinced had to be in her head.

“If you don’t answer the door in one second, Andréa, I swear to God. I will call out the National Guard…”

Standing there in Andy's doorway, Miranda didn’t look like she did in the car. Her face was too pale, a thin sheen of sweat that made her make-up run. Dark circles that her concealer was failing to cover. Her hair had a flatness, the life gone out of the white curl that usually fell over her forehead. She looked her age. She looked real. 

“Miranda.”

“You look terrible,” Miranda said. And she kissed her. Fiercely, and with a desperation that Andy matched once she’d gotten over the shock. She let Miranda push her against the closest wall, her hands reaching out to pull Miranda’s hips close. When they parted, it was only to breathe. Deep gasps that made their chests rise and fall. 

“How do you know where I live?” Andy croaked out.

“That…” Miranda took another breath. “That’s your biggest question? Out of everything?”

Andy didn’t know what to say to this Miranda. The real Miranda. It had been so easy to spout off whatever she was thinking when they were in that car. When the possibility of it being a dream was still up in the air. Now, she was hyper aware that she smelt. That her apartment was a mess, clothes, underwear strewn about. Plates with half-eaten food littering free surfaces. Miranda turned her nose up at the food.

“Why aren’t you looking after yourself?”

“I…” Andy didn’t have an explanation that wouldn’t sound maudlin. “I’m fine.”

“You’re living like a shut-in, Andréa.”

“Is that why you’re here? To lecture me about the state of my apartment?”

“Of course not, don’t be absurd,” Miranda sniffed. “But this self-destructive spiral is deeply unattractive.”

“Oh, is it?” Andy snapped. “Because we both know I live and die on whether you find me attractive.”

“Andréa…” Miranda closed her eyes, letting out a small breath. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“Why are you really here, Miranda?”

“You know why,” Miranda said, eyes darting a little. She looked a little lost. “This is so overwhelming.”

Andy nodded, exhaling. The tension leaving her shoulders.

“I know.”

“I’m not even certain this is real, anymore,” Miranda’s voice cracked. “I can never be sure if I’m awake or asleep.”

“Why do you think I’ve stopped trying?”

Miranda looked at her like she found that deeply sad. But she seemed to understand.

“It’s no way to live.”

“Who says this is living?” Andy said, feeling desperate. “Can I…”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Miranda breathed in through her nose, moving forward just as Andy did. The kiss was more delicate this time and Andy reveled in the softness of it, couldn’t believe the feel of Miranda’s tongue against hers. She ran her hands through Miranda’s hair, fingers playing against the soft hairs on the back of her neck in a way that made Miranda shudder.

“I need…” Miranda said, a little frantically, against Andy’s lips. 

“I know.”

Andy took a breath, managing to extract herself from Miranda’s embrace long enough to lead her around the partition, to the bed. The messy, rumpled bed. Miranda didn’t seem to care. Not about the look if it, the fact that it surely smelt like sweat and deodorant and a thousand other things. She only pulled Andy against her, her white hair falling behind her on the pillow.

“Please tell me you’re real,” Miranda said. 

“I’m real.”

“I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t.”

“I’m real,” Andy repeated, then she let out a chuckle, “I’m so real I probably look like shit right now.”

“No, no, ” Miranda said, closing her eyes once when Andy straddled either side of her with her legs. Her voice came out raspy. “You look…adequate.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Andy said as she pushed Miranda’s shirt up, button by button until she got to the lace that encased her breasts. She swallowed. “Dear God.”

Miranda smiled, reaching out to pull Andy closer.

“I need to….” She breathed. “Feel you.”

“Oh…” Andy stuttered as Miranda pulled her down for a kiss, teeth nipping Andy’s lip ever so slightly. Andy whimpered.

Miranda divested Andy of her clothes — the pajama top, wriggling her out of her pants. She reached up to feel Andy’s wetness, gasping a little at what she found.

“Please…” Andy said. “God. Please.”

Miranda ran a thumb over Andy’s clit, entering her with two shaky fingers. Miranda breathed out. 

“Oh, Andréa.”

A deep blush spread to Miranda’s chest as she dipped in and out, her thumb a light touch that slowly became devastating. Andy let out a cry as she came. And Miranda pulled her close, gasping with her.

Closing her eyes, Andy tried to memorize the feel of Miranda against her. The reality of Miranda, taking up space in her bed. 

“You’re real,” Andy said. And then repeated it, like a mantra, again and again. Miranda simply breathed.

* * *

They woke. But it was too sudden. Too bright. The softness of the bedclothes replaced with a leather interior. The warmth of Miranda’s naked skin suddenly taken from her, leaving her bereft.

“No,” Andy whispered. 

Miranda’s eyes found hers, and they were filled with alarm. They were in the backseat again. This couldn’t be happening, and yet it was. The car didn’t change course, it didn’t slow or waver. It made its way around Paris like it always did, uncaring of the opinions of those inside it. Andy closed her eyes and felt the vibrations of the engine and the way it seemed like a living thing, with its own agenda. She felt the curve of each turn, but was never jostled by them. They were all predictable somehow.

Then the car stopped. Suddenly, like a chokehold. She jerked forward, Miranda jerked forward. They both stared at each other, not speaking. Afraid to look outside. Andy took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“Don’t—“ Miranda reached out to her, but didn’t touch her. Andy could see the whites of her eyes.

“We have to get out, Miranda.”

“No,” Miranda’s voice wavered a little. “Please.”

Andy smiled, taking Miranda’s hand in hers, feeling the way the other woman was shaking.

“It’s ok.”

Miranda nodded, closing her eyes.

“I’m not ready for it to be over.”

Andy felt warm all over, like the sun had just come out. She cupped Miranda’s cheek, and delighted in the inhalation of breath it elicited.

There was a sudden shout from somewhere outside, and everything began to move at a normal pace again. The light of the Paris afternoon, the rushing traffic. The cries of the paparazzi and the cameras flashing. There it was, the last event of the day, waiting for them. Andy blinked a little, but she didn’t hesitate, She leaned forward, capturing Miranda’s lips in a soft kiss. Then she helped Miranda out of the car. Miranda’s cheeks were tinged with pink. She stared at Andy, eyes wide, as if convinced she had all the answers somehow. And who knows, perhaps she did. 

“It’s not over,” Andy said, feeling more certain than she had ever been. “It’s just beginning.”


End file.
